The Worthington advance., 1887-12-22
THE WHITE Deer.
4 Chris lnnaa Story.

and the withered leaves that had been
heaped here and there in holIows and
corners rustled and complained for
more OF heavens downy blankets,
Old Tom Campbell was stirring early.
He had made up his mind that if the
weather held right, he would try for a
little venison for the Christmas feast.
The days had passed so swiftly that
he hardly realized how near the holi-
day was until it was close at hand.
There was but one day left-but it
was a glorious day for deer! Snow
just two days old-a mere film OF it in
the woods. not enough to craunch be-
meath the feet or impede the hunters
progress, and yet quite enough to
track the wary game; still day-the
hunters scent would not travel far; g.
day neither too cold nor too warm,
too dry nor too damp; in short, a
most perfect day for still hunting the
lordly buck and the fat doe, in the
mountains back of the village.
There wero two places in the round
World that old Tom could call
home; one his own bit of a cabin on
the hillside, which he had built with
his unaided hands forty years
ago when the country was new,
and the other the pretty cot.
tage of his Youngest daugh-
ter's husband, in the village. 1t was
for the latter and merrler home that
the old man wished to secure the un-
expected delicacy, juicy bit of deer's
steak, to make the children smack
their lips and wonder and tease for
stories of the olden time. Grandpa
and Grandma had been invited to
leave their little, quiet cabin on the
hillside and spend all the holiday week
with the children, and of course they
were overjoyed at the thought of the
Jolly times they were to have. 1t was
even better than living with the noisy
brood all the year, as they might have
done had they chosen, for now there
was always something to be looked
forward to, every holiday sea:
fresh delight; and then, too,
Grandfather and Grandmother Camp.
bell, like all old people, enjoyed
comfortable quiet, except upon very
extraordinary occasions, when they
felt called upon to renew their youth.
The late winter sun had hardly
peeped above the hills when old Tom.
fortified within, thanks to Dame Camp
bells loving care, with steamlng cof-
fee, golden corn cake and potatoes,
fried only as our grandmothers can
fry them, started on his days hunt
in the woods. His riae-a relic of ear
lier days, but still serviceable and true
to it's aim-had been carefully cleaned,
and still more carefully loaded, so
that tie supreme moment it might
not tail 70 do its work. Looking
back just as he was entering the
woods at the top OF the slope, Tom
saw the smoke curling up from the
village chimneys, and heard the
rumbling of wheels and the far.off
sounds which betokened the
Weakening of a new days lite. He
could see the very cottage where the
loved ones were, perhaps just rubbing
their drowsy eyes with their dimpled
fists, and wondering whether the un-
wonted beating of their hearts meant
Christmas Day or only the day be-
fore. With q last fond look he plung.
ed into the woods, more eager than
ever to add to his cherished budget of
Christmas gifts a contribution to the
Christmas feast.
He had tramped nearly all the
morning, and was beginning to get
both hungry and tired, when sudden.
ly he came upon the well-known prints
of deer's feet in the tell-tale snow. He
bent down and examined them. They
were quite fresh; the deer could not
have passed more than an hour be-
fore. In an instant old Tom was all
alert: Throwing his rifle from his
shoulder to the hollow OF
his LETT arm, he began
cautiously following the trail, keeping
q careful lookout ahead, in readiness
to fire at tho stirring of q cover or the
whisk of a branch. Like all old deer
hunters, he knew the shy and suspi-
cious nature of his game, and that
unless he kept himself constantly on
the alert, the single chance he might
hope for IN q days stalking would be
irretr,evably lost.
The woods were as still as death, as
the old man crept along through the
dusky aisles of the trees. The mid
winter sleep of nature seemed to have
descended upon all things and there
was an atmosphere almost OF the un-
real and supernatural brooding upon
the forest. No sound of bird or squir-
rel, no rustic OF growing things. leaf or
nodding fern, no cawing of crows, or
an answer OF hidden hoot-owl from
the depth of tho covert-no sound even
of the hunters feet, muffled in the soft
and silent snow. Old Tom could not
help feeling to some extent the uncan-
ny influence Of his surroundings. III
one ever saw ghosts in the daytime" !"
he unused, ':now would be the time
and this tho place. What j: the spirit
OF some old Indian or tho ghost Of
some dusk maiden of the forest should
rise up In my path! Halt laughing to
himself at such fancies. the old man
bent his eyes moro keenly upon tho
winding track OF the deer and tho
thick coverts before him. Hungry as
he was, he did not venture to stop
and take tho frozen lunch from his
pouch lest tho game might be hiding
in some covert close at hand, and
spring away while he was of his guard.
The tracks kept growing fresher and
Old Tom-Was sure he could not be far
from tho game now, 50 he resolved to
keep on, and II fortune attended him.
eat his MONDAY lunch sitting upon
tho warm carcass Of his Christmas
deer.
An hour passed still no deer. Tom
was faint and nearly famished. There
seemed to bs . little clearing ahead,
and be resolved i he did not come up:
on the game thsrs b would stop and